Inside Looking Out
by Tabbycat2000
Summary: This story chronicles a romance between Harry and Ginny, all their crazy antics, and whatever else ends up in here. Chapters 17-23 up!
1. Whispers In The Dark

For a long time, I held on to foolish hopes

Whispers In The Dark

For a long time, I held on to foolish hopes. Held on to dreams that would never be fulfilled, if only to illuminate my life's road with their soft glimmer.

But foolish hopes and dreams have a way of fading away, only to be replaced by glaring reality that often leaves the viewer wishing they could go back to their innocent years, when they still believed in fairy tales.

I can hear them, talking. Their voices echo through the hallway and into the door that someone left ajar.

There's Ron, ranting on about the Slytherins and ways to get Malfoy expelled, touching slightly on his unfinished Divination homework.

Now Hermione snorts, lectures on how foolish Divination is and lauds the wonderfulness of Arithmancy while scolding Ron for not doing his homework properly. The same as always.

Then I hear a laugh, and an admonition to lighten up and look at the entire Divination fiasco in perspective and compare the homework with Professor Trelawny's questionable methods.

I close my eyes, my heart aching as I listen to his voice. No longer the uncertain boy I first saw that day at King's Cross, bidding good-bye to my brothers. Now he was confident, friendly, the lucky owner of several girl's hearts due to his celebrity status, which he almost seems to dislike. Not quite a boy, not quite a man.

It's been five years since I first saw him. In all that time I have felt my heart shatter more than once as he overlooked me again, in favor of his friends, of other girls.

But no matter how much I try, I cannot free my heart from his unwitting grasp.

They are putting their homework away now. I hear Hermione come up the stairs, the sound of a door closing as she enters her own dormitory room.

All is quiet. Now I am left alone with my thoughts, my dreams of a man-child that is always there, but always out of reach. Always dancing just out of my grasp.

And I realize that it's going to be a _very_ long night.


	2. Mental Meandering

****

Mental Meandering

I can see her.

It's strange, to be so preoccupied with just getting a good look at someone, but that is the only thought in my food-deprived brain this morning. Watching her without being watched in return.

Is it possible to fall for someone without knowing it? It must be, for my heart seems to have sided with the enemy without my knowing it.

Well, not exactly the enemy, but once Ron gets word he'll string me naked from the flagpole. She is his little sister, after all.

I know that, once upon a time, she had the same preoccupation with me. Now she never behaves that way, but Hermione claims the girl still likes me, if not at least in a friendly way.

I suddenly wish I were sitting next to her, rather than ten seats down and on the other side of the table. But lately my limbs have been conspiring against me and I'm reasonably sure that the long, ungainly things would only make me look like an idiot and end up sending orange juice into her already orange hair.

Well, don't I sound confident.

Ah-ha, here comes McGonagall, revised class schedules in hand. With Potions temporarily canceled, they seem to think it necessary to juggle everything around.

I take my schedule and peruse over the thing. I suddenly wonder what her schedule is like.

No! I firmly step on the idea, like some disgusting beetle. I'm not going to think about it. She's Ron's kid sister, definitely a big no-no. They'd lynch me- well, Ron and the twins would anyway.

But hey, a guy can dream, right? Says the annoying little voice in the back of my brain. I hate that thing. It's always trying to make me look like some moron.

Okay, back on track here. First we have Herbology….


	3. Inner Peace (Yeah Right!)

Inner Peace

(Yeah Right!)

Have you ever been doing something, shutting out everything else, when you suddenly felt like someone was watching you?

Lately I've been feeling like that a lot. Usually when I look up I'll catch a glimpse of black hair, but I don't let that get my hopes up. Loads of people here have black hair.

I feel eyes on me again. I keep my gaze firmly on my Charms essay, ignoring the goose bumps spreading down my arms, until finally I can't deal with the niggling feeling at the back of my brain and look up.

Harry is looking at me. He blushes guiltily and snaps his head around to look at what could only be a Defense Against The Dark Arts textbook.

Before my brain can fully register what has happened my heart is already spinning in circles and generally behaving extremely giddily.

He _looked_ at me! Not like a normal friendly look, or like those silent conversations he has with Ron and Hermione sometimes.

He'd looked at me like I've seen Ron look at Hermione, or Fred look at Angelina. The way I see hundreds of love-struck males behaving throughout the entire castle.

Logic suddenly throws emotion out of the driver's seat. I was being absurd. He wasn't looking at me at all.

But it is a feeble argument. Emotion is suddenly backed up by Gut Feeling.

He was looking at me. I'd suddenly been thrown into one of my fantasies.

I'd go and talk to him about it. Yes, that was the best thing to do. Logic would be satisfied, and Emotion and Gut Feeling would get a chance to prove their theories.

Shyness stepped up, backed by Panic. What was I supposed to say to him? He could have just been looking at my essay. What was I going to do?

I groan inwardly as several different elements get into an argument in my head.

Why can't I have a normal life?


	4. Bookworm

Bookworm

She saw me looking at her!

Okay, okay, calm down, it's not a big deal. Just concentrate on the book, you'll be okay, it's not that big of a deal.

But _she caught me watching her!_

I try—rather fruitlessly—to force the panicky giddiness and anxiety and all that mess out of my brain and read the chapter I've been assigned.

Ron sends me an odd look. Hermione grins to herself and gives Ron this knowing glance—which is extremely annoying, now that I think about it—and picks up her Astronomy book again.

Ron keeps giving me strange looks. Then he looks at something over my shoulder and grins. A moment later he is scribbling away on his History of Magic essay.

I want desperately to know what Ron looked at, but I squash the idea and keep reading.

Ron and Hermione are both looking at something behind me now. Hermione is grinning and trying not to. Ron is somewhere between laughter and consternation. 

Finally it all becomes too much. I "accidentally" knock a roll of parchment to the floor and I lean over to pick it up. While I do I twist around to see exactly what my two friends find so ruddy fascinating.

For a moment I can't figure it out. Then I see Ginny—the most gorgeous female alive, by the way—twisting a piece of parchment in her hands and chewing her lip, staring blankly into space. 

Well, not really. Her eyes are resting on the table where I'm working-

I sit up quickly. I drop the parchment on the table and nearly knock over the inkwell, eliciting an indignant squawk from Hermione. 

She caught me watching her. Now she's acting like she just got out of the Chamber of Secrets. At this point I'm slightly giddy. My brain makes the connection before I can.

She _likes_ me! She has to, why else would she be acting that way when all I did was look at her?

I file this away for later perusing and pick up my book again, mind still reeling.

It's almost too much to hope for. Could she really still like me like that? Or am I just fooling myself?

I look down at the book and groan inwardly. I haven't processed a word.


	5. Of Hands, Hoaxes, And Classmates

I think he knows something's up

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! Major thankees! And here, for your reading enjoyment, is the 5th installment in the Inside Looking Out series. Enjoy!

Of Hands, Hoaxes and Classmates

I think he knows something's up.

Why else would he be avoiding me? I've seen him three times this morning already and he's shied away each time. Does he not want to give me the wrong impression? Well, he already failed there.

I push these thoughts to the back of my brain. It's pure foolishness. He made it quite clear a long time ago that he wasn't interested in me that way.

I step into The Three Broomsticks. Instantly my attention is drawn to a booth near the door where several Hogwarts students and a few younger Hogsmeade residents are clustered. I see a flash of some filmy purple material and it becomes obvious that Lavender and Parvati are trying to get more pocket money by offering to read palms and predict futures.

I never took Divination, I personally believe its all a hoax, but I still feel a tiny twinge of curiosity at the back of my mind.

The miniature crowd parts for an instant and I see a small sign on the table, sandwiched between a second-hand crystal ball and a tea set.

See Your Future, it said, Ten Sickles A Reading.

Ten sickles? I only have three Galleons left, but I suppose it can't hurt. And I can always get a refund.

Yes, I admit it; I wanted to find out if this hopeless romance wasn't so hopeless. Logic threatened to oust the idea, but Weasleys are notoriously stubborn.

Ten minutes later I slip into the booth and hand Lavender a Galleon. I receive seven Sickles and return and a command to choose my poison.

"Palm reading, I suppose," I say hesitantly.

"All right then," says Lavender cheerfully. "Parvati will do that for you."

Parvati snatches my right hand without waiting for me to say anything.

"Is there anything in particular you wish to know?" she asks, eyebrows raised under her filmy purple veil. 

"Er, not really."

Parvati begins inspecting my palm. My imagination gets the better of me and I suddenly wonder if she's going to predict my death.

"Well, best as I can tell," says Parvati, breaking my reverie, "you've got some tough times behind you, and there are many more yet to be seen. Your life line gets extremely thin in two places- I'm assuming the first is in the Chamber of Secrets, the second is in the future."

I suddenly wonder if this was a very good idea. Parvati has a very disturbing, far-away look to her.

"There's something under your nose that you're not seeing- can't tell what," Parvati continued.

"Is that all?" I ask. After a moment Parvati nods.

"Yes. I hope I helped."

I stifle a derisive snort and leave the booth.

A few minutes later, I sit in my own booth, a tankard of butter beer clasped in my hands, warming them.

My brain is whirring over what Parvati told me. Logic is steadfastly refusing to think that it was true at all, whilst Imagination wrestled for the driver's seat with twenty different scenarios in hand.

The bell above the door tinkles. I glance up, then instantly duck down.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione file in, talking merrily. I don't want Harry to see me, to see the way my ears turn red and hear the wobble in my voice that suddenly appears whenever he's within a twenty-foot radius.

There's no way I can get out of here without him noticing me.


	6. Can't Exactly Carpe Diem (The Procrastin...

The sky is overcast, rumbling menacingly overhead with the promise of sleet

Can't Exactly Carpe Diem

(The Procrastinator Within)

The sky is overcast, rumbling menacingly overhead with the promise of sleet. A stiff breeze whips through the town.

I barely notice all this as Ron, Hermione, and I make the rounds through Hogsmeade. As usual, Ron has to be bodily removed from Honeydukes, and Hermione skulks in all the bookshops until someone drags her out.

And me? I am looking for Ginny and trying not to. 

I know it sounds pathetic, but it's true. I was dying to get another glimpse of her, but I didn't want to because of what might happen if she caught me again. Typical for me these days.

"Harry?"

I look up sharply. Hermione was looking at me with an odd combination of concern and amusement playing across her features. 

"What?"

"You haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?"

I grin, even though a hard knot of anxiety has suddenly crept into my stomach. "What's that?"

Ron rolls his eyes, a faint smile flickering across his lips. "Forget it. His brain has gone bye-bye."

"Has not," I scowl. "At least, I don't think so," I had thoughtfully. Hermione laughs.

"Come on, let's go get a butter beer. It's freezing out here."

Ron agrees. The pair of them just about frog-march me down the street. We step inside The Three Broomsticks a moment later.

Hermione and Ron are knee-deep in an argument over the usefulness of Dungbombs. I comment when I feel appropriate, mostly casting my eyes around the tavern to see if there were any female Weasleys about.

I open my mouth to make a comment, and the words die on my lips.

There, in the very back. A flash of crimson hair and freckles. Ginny is frantically scrabbling to get her bags, a half-empty tankard on the table in front of her.

As I watch her a thousand different scenarios run through my mind, each more unrealistic than the last. 

My alter ego—something I'm sure just about everyone has been cursed with—is urging me to just walk over and say hello, invite her to sit with us. 

My mind hits two obstacles in the way of this simple goal.

First of all, I get so tongue-tied in her presence that I'd never be able to make the request anyway.

Two-

__

Ding-a-ling.

She's just left the tavern.


	7. Rain, Baggage, And Lies

It's extremely hard not to laugh out loud

Rain, Baggage, and Lies

I run down the mildly crowded street, inwardly cursing my cowardice.I can't believe I'm such a chicken.

I hear footsteps behind me, but I think nothing of it—there are people walking around everywhere.It's Hogsmeade weekend, the village is twice as crowded as usual.

"Ginny!"

I stumble slightly on a loose cobblestone.He's actually talking to me!He knows I exist!There is justice in this world!

I stumble to a stop—dropping my Zonko's bag in the process—and spin around.My hair gets into my eyes and I brush it away impatiently.

Harry's running up the street towards me, his hair sticking up in every direction exactly like it always has.His glasses are hanging crooked from his nose, and his left shoelace is untied.

He's wonderful, isn't he?

"Hi, Harry," I say as Harry gets within ten feet.I pick up my fallen bag and give him a questioning look."What did you need?"

"Er, well," stutters Harry, shifting his weight from one foot to the other."Are you okay?" he asks finally."You ran out of the tavern like there were dragons on your heels- you didn't even finish your butter beer."

Explanations begin chasing each other through my brain, each more unlikely than the next.I cast my mind around and it lands on a not-so-crazy-sounding excuse.

"A few other students were making some less than polite remarks, and I didn't want to stay in there anymore," I said with confidence I didn't feel."Stupid Slytherins…" I mumble, almost as an afterthought.

Concern flashes through his gorgeous emerald eyes."They weren't talking about you, were they?"

"No," I say quickly."But still, I wasn't enjoying myself that much."

"Oh."

There is an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch on to infinity, but actually only lasts for about fifteen seconds.

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but with an almighty crack of thunder the heavens open up and dispense their payload.Icy cold rain pummels the entire countryside, us included, and soaks my bags.

Harry snaps his mouth shut and sighs.Then, not bothering to say anything, he grabs my wrist and drags me down the street, bags and all.

He had a nice grip, I note absently.

A moment later we're inside the post office, dripping all over the floor.Hundreds of pairs of fowl eyes glare at us.No pun intended.

"Well, that was an adventure," I say, trying to dispel some of the mild tension in the air."Let's not ever do it again."

A small smile starts at the corners of Harry's mouth and spreads into an all-out evil grin.I see the thoughts behind his emerald eyes and groan inwardly.

"No way-"

Too late.He's already grabbed my wrist again.

I should have brought some dry clothes….


	8. Water Boy

It's official

Water Boy

It's official.I'm insane.

What other possible explanation can there be?I dragged Ginny out of the rain and into the post office.Nothing big, right?

Then, thirty seconds later, I drag her out again and start splashing through puddles like a five-year-old.

Ginny's laughing at me.I don't blame her.But still, splashing through two-inch-deep puddles _is kinda fun._

"Betcha I can kick it higher than you!" I cry, grinning insanely.Ginny's eyebrows go skyward.

"Oh really?"

"Yup!" I swing my feet through another puddle, sending relatively huge waves in every direction.

"You're goin' down, four-eyes!"

Ginny kicks a puddle and completely soaks me- not that it's noticeable, with all the rain.

We spend the next five minutes playing in puddles and having the time of our lives.

Finally I get Ginny as sopping wet as it is possible for a person to be and she gives up.

"You think you're all that, don't you?" asks Ginny, hand on hip and an unreadable expression on her (gorgeous) freckled face.

"All that and a bag of chips," I agreed, nodding and grinning."Whatcha gonna do about it?"

"This." Ginny snatches my glasses off the end of my nose and darts away, laughing and waving them over her head.

Of course, I chase her.What else am I supposed to do?(Besides tackle her and kiss her senseless, anyway…)

"Nha nha nha!" calls Ginny, giggling.I run after the sound of her voice, vaguely aware that we're on the lawn in front of the Shrieking Shack now.

Without my glasses I'm blind as a bat.Therefore, I couldn't see my glasses, so I just attack the laughing red and black blob that is Ginny.

We topple to the soaking grass, still laughing like idiots.I manage to grab my glasses and jam them back on my face.They're upside down, but it's a trivial matter, compared to one extremely cool and extremely frightening fact.

Ginny, in all her redheaded glory, is laughing two inches away.I've never seen her that close before.

Even in the pouring rain, she looks wonderful.Like a mischievous freckled angel, or maybe just a gorgeous imp.

No matter how you put it, I'm just about mesmerized.

Ginny's laughter trails off—her laughter sounds great, by the way, almost like a wind chime—and she sees me staring at her.She gives me an odd look.

"Are you okay, Harry?"

"Er…"

Yeah, _real intelligent Potter.Wonderful technique._

Then I notice something and start panicking slightly.

Ginny's face is no longer six inches away, but three inches away.And she hasn't moved an inch.(Maybe a few centimeters, but not a whole inch, I'm reasonably sure.)

Yes, I am insane.Don't try and deny it.


	9. Close Encounters

Is it just me, or has the entire world gone 'round the bend

Close Encounters

Is it just me, or has the entire world gone 'round the bend?

Harry's nose is three scant inches away from mine. A strange, terrified giddiness is whirling in his bewitching green eyes. He can't be thinking what I think he's thinking, can he?

My heart jumps up into my throat, then to my toes, hen drops into my chest cavity and begins trying to get out that way—that is, by beating a hole through my ribcage.

Now he's two inches away, and I'm pretty sure that I'm the one that shrank the distance, if the pleasantly shocked look in Harry's eyes means anything.

I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.

Harry's hand suddenly appears and brushes a lock of hair out of my face. His fingers brush my cheek and send electricity zapping through my body.

I expect him to pull away, but his hand stays exactly where it is. Just that single touch is sending tingles up and down my spine.

I look in Harry's eyes, see the uncertainty and hope and panic and twenty trillion other emotions spinning dizzily through their emerald depths.

And before I can do anything else, the distance between us disappears and pleasant shock waves ripples through my body.

It's like being pulled into a tornado. An extremely comfortable and wonderful tornado.

The contact lasts all of one tenth of a second.

Harry pulls back abruptly, blushing madly. I am distinctly disappointed.

Understatement of the week, Ginny.

"Are you okay, Harry?" I ask, looking at him curiously.

"I, uh, er," he stammers. Interesting. One kiss that can barely be counted as such and he can't string together two words.

All those obnoxious conflicting voices in my brain seem to have gone on vacation. Therefore, I do _exactly_ what I've wanted to do since forever.

I ignore his stammering and scoot just a tiny bit closer. I hate to admit it, but I'm a tad too shy to just up and kiss him senseless. I've only kissed two males, counting Harry (and let me tell you, Seamus Finnigan is a sucky kisser).

"What're you doing?" asks Harry, seemingly having recovered his mental processes.

"Taking the incentive," I reply. Oh well. I've already kissed him once, no harm in doing it again.

I wrap my arms around Harry's neck. He gets the clue (finally, I've been mentally begging for this for a _long_ time) and our lips meet.

This time it lasts a lot longer.


	10. Uzbekistan

The clouds have parted

Uzbekistan

The clouds have parted. Not that I really care.

I'm sitting on the lawn outside the Shrieking Shack, sopping wet from head to toe, with a girl, her head on my shoulder.

Ah, but not just any girl. The female in question is one Ginny Weasley, who is an absolute vision, even sopping wet.

Approximately half an hour ago, I kissed her. Yes, that's right, I kissed the girl of my dreams for the first time ever. And she seemed very eager to return it, which is a big plus in my book.

But for the moment I'm just concentrating on how good it feels to be cuddled up with her like this, crimson hair tangled in my fingers. I can feel her breath on my face and smell her citrus perfume. All in all, it's a rather intoxicating experience.

"Harry?"

Her voice shakes me out of my thoughts. I look at her face and see her staring up at the cloud-strewn sky, an unreadable expression in her chocolate-brown eyes.

"Hmm?" My brain is still too foggy to come up with a real answer, so I opt for the 'noncommittal noise' approach.

"What happens now? I mean, if we ever told anyone Ron and the rest of my brothers would string you stark-naked from the flagpole."

I seem to remember picturing a scenario like that once… "Well, they might not. You never know, they could string me naked from the top of the Ministry building."

Ginny lets out a tiny laugh and pokes me in the ribs. "If there was a 'National Optimist' contest, I'm pretty you that you wouldn't come out in first place."

"Yup, that's me," I say, nodding. "Pessimist extroirdinaire. Ruler of all things negative. That's Harry Potter all right, the Boy Who Griped."

Ginny laughs and swats me playfully, eyes dancing. "You dork. Be serious."

"I'd like to stay off the wanted list, thanks."

Ginny rolls her eyes. I grin at her. "That, and he wears leather. I don't like leather."

Ginny's eyebrows disappear into her hairline. "Oh, really? Well, let me tell you mister I'm-so-confident, Sirius does not wear leather."

"Then what does he wear, hmm?"

"He wears nahga-hide."

I let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. Ginny grins. Then she becomes serious again.

"Come on Harry, what are we gonna do that will somehow prolong your life span?"

"Find a Sorcerer's Stone."

Ginny smacked me on the arm, a bit harder than she had before. "I mean about my brothers, you turkey."

I sigh. It's obvious that she's not going to let me change the subject. Maybe I can shut her up by kissing her…

"Harry!"

"What? Oh, yeah." I feel my ears heat, obviously they were going red. "Well, maybe we could, er, run to Uzbekistan together?"

"How far away is it?"

"Far enough."

"I'll go pack."


	11. Outside Looking In

Outside Looking In

My best friend has officially lost his marbles.

Harry is staring across the common room, obviously millions of miles away. A strange dreamy look is on his face.

He's been acting like this for the past week. It's getting quite annoying, especially since he won't tell Ron or me why.

I stick my nose back into my Study of Ancient Runes book. I try to read the words before me, but my mind keeps drifting back to Harry's odd behavior.

I figure it out after a few minutes, and I feel like smacking myself. Why hadn't I spotted it earlier? (Well, the fact that I spend a good deal of time with Ron instead of Harry might have had something to do with it. And don't you say a word about neglecting him, because I'd rather snog Ron any day. Oh dear, that didn't come out right…)

Harry is head-over-heels for a girl. The hard part is figuring out which one.

All right Hermione, watch Harry's eyes. He is looking at a gaggle of females near the fireplace, giggling over something. Sixth-years.

There's Mariah Diggle, who takes after her grandfather as far as common sense goes. Erika Kelly, the best female prankster at Hogwarts. Deirdre Koveland, the boy-crazy one with an almighty crush on my boyfriend. And Ginny Weasley, my boyfriend's little sister.

Mariah is far too much of a ditz for Harry to ever even consider her. Deirdre is too fickle, one minute she's dating Draco Malfoy, the next Justin Finch-Fletchley. Erika is already going out with Dean Thomas.

He couldn't be watching _Ginny_!

Ginny turns slightly and seems to catch Harry looking in her general direction. She smiles slightly and, wonder of wonders! Harry smiles, a dazed, _lovesick_ look on his face.

Ron hasn't spotted this exchange, he's engrossed in a chess game with Seamus, who hasn't noticed either. 

Ginny is now neon red. Harry grins evilly, then turns back to his homework. Ginny stares at him for another moment, then turns sharply and starts talking to Deirdre again.

Well, this is an interesting development.


	12. Call the Morgue

Call the Morgue

"Checkmate!"

Seamus's king chucks its crown down on the chessboard, looking decidedly put out. So does Seamus.

"You're too good at this," he grumbles. I shake my head.

"Nah, just good enough."

I look up and see what's been happening in the common room while I kicked Seamus's sorry wanna-be chess player butt.

Hermione (in all her bushy-haired, brown-eyed, completely adorable glory, I might add) is staring at a huge Ancient Runes book, glancing up every few moments. It's obvious that she wants to tell me something.

I leave Seamus to pick up his chess set and I go plop down next to Hermione. She looks up sharply.

"Ron," she hisses, "watch Harry and Ginny."

What ever is she blabbering on about? "What for?"

"Just do it!"

I shrug and look over at Harry (a strange, goofy expression on his face, which I've seen on my own too many times to count, meaning he's _whipped_) then at Ginny (who is blushing madly, glancing our way every few seconds and turning redder still) and it takes me a moment, but then the reality of the situation hits me with all the force of the Hogwarts Express on full steam.

"I'm gonna kill Harry."


	13. Saturday Night Fever

It's Saturday

Saturday Night Fever

It's Saturday.

Saturday means that tonight, I will be sneaking out to the Quidditch pitch. It also means that I don't know why I'm sneaking out to the Quidditch pitch, but I'm all giggly when I think about it anyway.

Harry is over doing homework with the two lovebirds, as usual. Hermione and Ron and talking quietly.

And Harry is looking at me over the end of his quill. I can see exactly what he's thinking. I can practically hear him saying the words in my mind.

__

Looking forward to tonight, hmm?

I grin in reply. I know exactly what is plastered across my face.

__

You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this.

Suddenly Ron stands up, looking thunderous. He stomps over to Harry (which doesn't really make him look intimidating, as Harry was all of four feet away) and growls, "I need to talk to you. _Now._"

Ron glances over at me and I suddenly realize that he's seriously considering stringing Harry upside-down from the flagpole, stark naked with "I Love Severus Snape" painted on his butt in bright red letters.

You're taking yourself to a very dark mental place, Ginny. Stop it.

Harry obviously knows this also, judging by the 'deer-in-the-headlights' look in his brilliant green eyes.

"Uh…"

"_Now."_

"I'll take a rain check!" Harry yelps, jumping up and bolting for the portrait hole. Seeing no other alternative, I run after him. We reach the portrait hole at the same time and crawl out, slamming the Fat Lady shut behind us.

"Excuse me!" she squawks indignantly.

Harry grabs my hand and yanks me down the corridor just as the portrait hole bursts open again. I fight down hysterical giggles and run for dear life. Or at least Harry's dignity. 

We skid around a corner. I see a broom closet and pull it open. We crawl inside and ease the door shut just as Ron comes hurtling around the bend.

In the darkness of the cramped broom closet, I can hear Ron's footsteps receding, then becoming silent.

I suddenly realize that I'm in a dark broom closet. At eight o' clock at night. Sitting on Harry Potter's lap, with his arms wrapped around me, and I can feel his breath on my neck, a lock of his hair tickling my face.

"That was rather, erm, eventful," I say tactfully. Even though I can't see him, I know that an evil grin is spreading across Harry's face.

"Yeah."

There is a long pause.

"Wanna do it again?"

"Not now, no. Let's try and get down to the Quidditch pitch."

"Okay."

Another long pause, during which neither of us move.

"Well, this is nice."

"Mm hmm."

Silence.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think Ron would have done if he caught you?"

"He'd probably string me from the flagpole."


	14. Heights and Harry

"This is crazy, Harry," says Ginny mildly as we slink through the hallways, trying not to be noticed by Mrs

Heights and Harry

"This is crazy, Harry," says Ginny mildly as we slink through the hallways, trying not to be noticed by Mrs. Norris or any of the teachers. It would be much easier to do this had we not been chased away from the common room, which, incidentally, is where I left my Invisibility Cloak. So we're just winging it.

"I know," I reply, grinning. "That's what makes it so fun."

Ginny rolls her eyes, though a smile flickers across her lips. "Right."

We reach the front doors without incident and walk outside into the night. The sky is overcast, the moon's glow barely reaching through the thick gray blanket of water vapor. And it's chilly.

We run, laughing for no conceivable reason, across the grounds to the broom shed where my Firebolt is. I've kept it there ever since we learned the Thief's Curse fifth year. Whoever so much as picked it up without proving they were me would sprout tentacles from their head.

"We're going flying, aren't we?" asked Ginny as I rifle through the piles of brooms. I can hear the skepticism in her melodic soprano voice. (Great wizards, I'm turning into a poet!)

"Yup," I reply cheerfully. I FINALLY find my broom, take off the curse, and sling it over my shoulder. "You're not scared, are you?" I say teasingly as I step back outside. Ginny colors slightly.

"Of course not, silly," she says quickly. "I was just asking, that's all," she adds defensively.

"Sure," I say skeptically. "Anyway, yeah, we're gonna go flying. Hop on."

Ginny sends me a dubious look, but she clumsily climbs on the Firebolt. I jump on behind her and kick off, sending us rocketing upwards.

"This is nuts," Ginny is mumbling under her breath, holding the broom handle in a white-knuckled grip. "I hate heights…"

I laugh in a mix of amusement and sheer elation at being so high up. Ginny tosses an exasperated glance at me over her shoulder.

"Yes, let's all laugh at the- holy crap!"

We'd gone into the thick, low-lying blanket of clouds. Ginny chokes and holds the broom handle even tighter than before, if such a thing is even possible.

"It's just a little fog."

Ginny lets out an exasperated sound. I grin insanely.

Before either of us can say another word we burst through the cloud cover, into the open night sky. Ginny gasps, eyes wide with wonder.

"Oh, wow…" she breathes. I nod in agreement.

"I used to come up here all the time, to try and clear my head. It's so peaceful you can't help but relax somewhat," I say, eyes drifting lazily across the scene.

Above us, a multitude of twinkling lights, like white and blue fairies. Beneath us, an expanse of clouds that looked solid enough to walk on. And Ginny.

Her crimson curls are flapping gently in the breeze, having come loose of its haphazard ponytail. I reach out a hand and smooth them back, tucking the silky strands behind her ear.

Ginny lets out a contented sigh and leans back against my chest, curls tickling my nose.

"I wish we could stay here forever," she says softly.

"Yeah. Me too."


	15. Confessions

It's truly beautiful up here

Confessions

It's truly beautiful up here.

The crescent moon is staring down on us, like a silver guardian angel without wings. The stars twinkle merrily around it, reminding me of mischievous fairies.

Harry tucks a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. The simple touch felt wonderful. The only other two boyfriends I've ever had would never do that. They simply pointed out my unruly locks for me.

I suddenly feel absolutely wonderful. I lean back against Harry, trying not to grin evilly as he jerks just the tiniest bit in surprise, then wraps one arm around me. The other he keeps firmly on the broom handle.

"It's beautiful up here," I say softly. "I could just stay here for the rest of eternity."

"Me, too," Harry replies softly, squeezing slightly. I get the feeling that he isn't referring so much to the blanket of stars than he is to the fact that we're so close, and that I'm practically sitting in his lap.

I shift slightly so I can look at Harry. He has a slightly distant look to his emerald eyes. I send him a questioning look. Harry notices and smiles slightly. He smoothes down my hair slightly.

"You're a wonderful person, Ginny," he says sincerely. "I'm so stupid for not noticing it earlier."

"Shh." I press a finger to his lips. "Don't start the regret bit. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have noticed, and that we're together now."

Harry is nothing like anyone else I've ever known. I knew it the first time I ever laid eyes on him. I admit, for a while I was in awe of his defeat of You-Know-Who, of his celebrity status, but over time I came to understand who he really was. And I love him that much more for who he really is underneath the stardom.

I didn't really just say that, did I?

Harry's wonderful green eyes are on mine now. The silent, hesitating question in them sends tingles down my spine. He really does feel that way about me, otherwise he wouldn't be like this.

This kiss is just as head spinning as the first.

But there is something there that wasn't there the first time. Yes, my head is spinning in giddy circles and my heart is doing the cha-cha, but there's something else there.

Maybe it's the strange, slow explosion that starts in my chest and spreads through the rest of me. Or is it something else?

Intuition has suddenly found her way to the forefront of my mind. I now have a strong theory, but I have no proof whatsoever.

We break apart—rather hesitantly—and, my mind still swimming, I lay my head on Harry's shoulder. He rests his own atop mine.

I've never, ever felt so safe, or well protected before. I've never felt so…loved.

"Ginny?"

His voice is so soft I can barely hear it. "Hmmm?"

"Just so you know, I'm not completely off my onion."

"What?"

There was a slight pause as I waited for him to tell what in all of England he was talking about.

His voice is still soft, but I can hear the raw emotion and the slight fear of rejection in it when he speaks.

"I love you, Ginny."

Shock ripples through me like Muggle dynamite. Disbelief floods my system, only to be replaced seconds later by a joy I've never experienced before.

"'Love you more, Harry," I reply, impishness fighting with emotion for dominance in my tone.

He smiles against my hair. I can almost see his eyes alight with the same thing I'm feeling.

"Not possible."

"Prove it," I retort, without rancor. I pull back and look up at him. His face is silhouetted against the night sky.

"I'll take that challenge," Harry replies, an impish grin climbing his face. "You'll never win, though."

"We'll see about that."


	16. Bugger

It's been six months, and there hasn't been so much as a hiccup as far as the Dark Arts go

Bugger

__

Five Months Later

It's been six months, and there hasn't been so much as a hiccup as far as the Dark Arts go.

Which means that we all need to run very, very fast, and run very, very far.

I don't know what all these gloom-and-doom feelings are sprouting from. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that, for just about as long as I can remember, Bad Stuff has hovered on the horizon, only to swoop down when everyone has their guard down.

At the moment, I most definitely do have my guard down.

Ginny is sitting across from me, perusing through a copy of the Daily Prophet. Her bright crimson hair is mussed slightly (it's a Saturday, therefore half the people in the Great Hall are still wearing their pajamas underneath their robes), and the light catches it, making it look like strands of flame. Her chocolate-colored eyes are focused on the newspaper, making it very obvious that even if Draco Malfoy danced naked through the halls, proclaiming his everlasting love for Professor McGonagall, she wouldn't even notice.

It is far, far too early to be contemplating such matters. I have a horrible exhaustion headache, and trying to sound all serious-like is making it worse.

So I barely notice when tiny needles of electricity dance across my forehead.

However, five minutes later, I most definitely notice the stabbing pains in my scar.

I clap a hand to my forehead, wincing. "Uh-oh."

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Three pairs of concerned eyes stare at me. Ginny, eyebrows knitted. Colin, fingering his camera. And Dean, looking politely bemused.

Hermione and Ron aren't present. I'd rather not think why.

"No." I knead at my forehead, absently taking my glasses off with my free hand. "I don't think this is a good sign, you guys."

Ginny leans across the table and gently pushes my hand away, inspecting my forehead. "It looks a bit red," she said, worry creeping into her voice. "We need to go see Dumbledore."

The Great Hall doors crash open. Everyone in the room turns and, as one, they all scream.

I let out a weary sigh. "Bugger."


	17. Fit To Be Tied

Fit To Be Tied

The Great Hall is echoing with the screams of terrified students. Disbelief, fear, and anger are jolting my system far more effectively than any caffeine pill.

Standing in the doorway, surrounded by a shimmering globe of magical energy, is three Death Eaters and a single pale, scaly, revolting, absolutely, utterly, and completely irrevocably terrifying, figure.

Voldemort.

I half-expect the Slytherins to be hooting with joy over this unexpected turn of events, but they seem far more eager than anyone else to get away. There's Malfoy now, levitating himself to the ceiling.

Voldemort laughs darkly, scarlet eyes filled with a malevolence that I remember far too well.

Almost as if I'm in a dream, I grab my wand from my pocket and hold it before me, knowing full well I'm being stupid.

I see a black blur jump onto the table, run down the length of it, then jump onto the floor again and run at the shimmering globe, wand out.

Harry. He's going to get himself killed.

I run after him, pushing my way against the flow of terrified humanity that seems to be heading for the safety of the staff table and Dumbledore.

I hear the sound of spells being called out, and cold laughter as they prove ineffective.

Harry's not doing any good. Great Wizards, we're all gonna die.

I finally reach the end of the table. Free from the press of student life, I bolt for the strange visage that is just inside the doorway.

Four stewards of evil, one of them surely the embodiment of evil himself. And one young man who didn't know nearly as much magic as his foes, struggling futilely to push them back.

I slip and my momentum carries me forward, sliding across the smooth stone. I shriek in surprise.

This is the wrong reaction.

Voldemort looks at me, vindictive glee lighting his disgusting features. He holds out his wand and mutters a spell.

I stop skidding. Ropes spring from nowhere and wrap around me. I can't move a single millimeter.

"Ginny!"

A well-placed spell cuts off Harry's mad dash.

"Ah-ah, you mustn't touch," says Voldemort, a cruel smirk twisting his distorted features.

"Let her go," snarls Harry. "She's of no use to you."

I feel vaguely insulted at this, but I nod energetically. I'm gagged, otherwise I would be verbally backing him up.

Voldemort cocks a non-existent eyebrow. "Oh, I think she is."

Dumbledore is fighting through the crowd of terrified students behind us, I can tell by his ringing shouts and the scrambling of many feet.

Voldemort calls out the Summoning spell. I rocket towards him, crashing through the globe and landing just short of the second Death Eater. The man grabs my arm.

"You'll find us at my father's grave," Voldemort calls. Then he cackles evilly. A Death Eater pulls something from his pocket. They all touch it, and suddenly I'm flying….


	18. The Lion and the Lamb- Er, Snake

The Lion and the Lamb- er, Snake

One moment she was there, tied up and terrified, but still all right.

The next she was just… gone.

He said I'd find him at his father's grave. Not my favorite place. Well, I suppose I don't have much of a choice.

While the teachers and prefects are scouting the halls and grounds for any other Death Eaters, I am in the library. Ron and Hermione are buried in the mounds of books as well.

What are we looking for, you ask?

A road map.

"Ah-hah!"

I look up sharply. Hermione is triumphantly waving a red folder above her head.

"I found it!" She opens it and points to something in its pages. "See, there's Little Hangleton. We should be able to get there all right."

"_We_?"

"Of course we," says Ron, looking ruffled. "She's my sister, Harry! If I sit here I'll go completely mad."

"We're going with you," says Hermione firmly. "Don't bother arguing."

Inwardly I am glad that I won't be alone on this suicide mission, but I don't wand to put them in danger either.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," I say wearily, too emotionally exhausted to bother fighting with them. "And don't tell anyone. I'm going to keep as many people out of this as possible."

A pale face pokes out from between the bookshelves. Instantly Ron shoots up, clenching his fists and scowling fiercely.

"What do _you_ want?" growls Ron.

Malfoy, who looks somber for once, sends us a level gaze. If I wasn't so scared I might find all this amusing.

"I want to help."

I groan and bury my face in my hands. I can still hear the others talking, though.

"Why should we bring you along, hmm? You've been nothing but trouble ever since we met you," says Hermione.

"My thoughts exactly," agrees Ron.

"I know most of the Death Eaters in Voldemort's inner circle, their strengths and weaknesses. I can help. I've been drilled in their strategies since I was three, I ought to be of at least some use."

The debate goes back and forth for the next five minutes, neither party getting anywhere with their argument.

I finally lift my head. "Quiet!"

Instant silence.

"Look Malfoy, if you want to come, great, wonderful. But if you throw in with Voldemort…" I let the threat hang. Malfoy got the idea without any dramatization.

"All right," he agrees hesitantly. "If we're going to go we'd better leave, before the professors can catch us."

Deep down I know that this is a Very Bad Idea, but I nod and stand. "All right. Let's go."


	19. Cruciatus

Cruciatus

"Ooh…"

My head hurts.

Actually, I just hurt.

I pry my eyes open. My surroundings are fuzzy, but the best I can tell the ceiling is gray, and it's rather dim in here.

Things start clearing up, and my brain snaps back into 'all there' mode.

Okay. Voldemort kidnapped me. A Port-Key took us somewhere.

So… where is here?

"Awake, Miss Weasley?"

I turn my head sharply and see a forty-year-old Draco Malfoy standing in a corner of the claustrophobic room, a cruel smirk twisting his features.

No, not Draco, Lucius Malfoy. The ferret's father.

"No. I'm completely dead to the world," I retort sarcastically. The ringing pain in my head is affecting my ability to be civil. Not that this creep deserves civility.

"That can be arranged."

"Bite me, creep."

Lucius gave a mock sigh. "I grow weary of your impertinence, girl." He lifts his wand. A split second before he says the words sheer, unadulterated terror tears through my body.

"_Crucio._"

A billion razors are cutting me inside and out. White-hot flames engulf my body, then icy wind.

And then, it stops.

I take a shaky breath, trembling from the horrible extent of pain I have just endured. Through my hazy vision I see another smirk twisting Malfoy's foul face. He is saying something, but I can't understand it.

__

Somebody please, help me. There's no way I can survive this place.

"What's that, Miss Weasley? Ready for some more?"

__

Not again… please, not again…

"Crucio!"

Screams echo through the dungeon at Malfoy Manor. Down the hall from the chamber containing Lucius Malfoy and Ginny Weasley, a man who looks more like a snake smiles grimly.

"He will not refuse us."


	20. Of Rescue Parties, ESP, and Revenge

****

Of Rescue Parties, ESP, and Revenge

__

Stop! Please, stop!

I nearly fall off my broom.

Did I just hear what I thought I did?

My eyes snap to the others. Ron is white as a sheet underneath his freckles. Hermione looks distinctly ill. And Malfoy looks- well, he looks like Malfoy.

"Did you hear that?" says Ron in a hoarse whisper. I don't reply, my mind is too busy spinning in lopsided circles to come up with a suitable retort.

"It sounded like Ginny," says Hermione, her voice oddly firm and calm. At least, when compared to the weird expression on her face. "How…?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. But-"

__

The creep is standing in the corner of the room, smirking at me as I twitch on the floor. I can feel my mind slipping as I try to escape the horrific pain. I'm not sure if he has me under the curse, or if my brain is too warped to tell the difference between the two conditions.

"Ginny!"

"She's at Malfoy Manor."

I twist to look at Malfoy. He looks deadly resolute, jaw clenched, his hands wrapped around his broom handle in a white-knuckled grip. "In the dungeon."

"You have a dungeon in your basement?!" cries Hermione, sounding both startled and rather unsurprised. 

"What's that got to do with the price of tea in China?" retorts Malfoy, his tone somewhere between his familiar drawl and biting sarcasm. "Yes. We need to head south."

Ron and Hermione look to me to veto this asinine idea, but I don't bother. If Malfoy knows where she is, wonderful. Great. Fantastic. Let's just get our rear ends in gear and find her.

"Lead the way, Malfoy." I say. Ron's eyes widen in disbelief, and I cock an eyebrow at him, silently asking him if he had a better idea. He lets out a low growl and glares at the back of Malfoy's head.

"Ron, that's enough," says Hermione firmly. "Forget killing Malfoy, let's just get your sister back."

"Hermione?" I ask suddenly. "What was that, anyway? Why were we hearing her thoughts?"

Hermione looks up at me, eyes filled with a confused look that I've never seen there before. "I don't know. I read somewhere about this happening, I think with Helga Hufflepuff and somebody- she'd caught Slytherin in the middle of some Dark Art practicing session and he'd trussed her up in the closet, and someone managed to hear her calling for help. No one really knows why what's-his-name heard her."

"Who's what's-his-name?"

Hermione shook her head. "Can't remember. Let's just go."

Filled with renewed determination to find Ginny and brutally murder Voldemort and every single one of his dirty little followers, I turn my broom and follow Malfoy and the others.


	21. Interrogation

Interrogation

It's cold in here.

I can't really think properly. My thoughts are frozen over, exactly like this bloody room. Can't feel my fingers.

The door squeals open. Someone steps in. All I can really make out is black robes and something pale.

Since there are a lot of people who fit that description, I wasn't too worried. They can't do anything worse than what they've been doing the last-what is it? Two, three days? A week? Or even millennia, I wouldn't know.

"Virginia Weasley, isn't it?"

My heart stops. I know that voice. Know it from my worst nightmares. Adrenaline surges and banishes my scrambled thoughts.

Yup, it's him. The monster I once thought my friend. Voldemort, in all his scaly, disgusting, serpentine, abominable nastiness.

"Why should you care?" I manage to whisper over my own terror.

Voldemort laughs mirthlessly, a cold sound that drops the temperature a further twenty degrees. "I don't particularly care, Miss Weasley, I only wish to check my prisoner's identity. I wouldn't want to be broadcasting some poor Slytherin's thoughts to Harry Potter, you know."

What? Broadcasting…?

"It's not that difficult," says Voldemort, twirling his wand, obviously reading my expression. "A half-forgotten art, surely, but simple and very useful."

He's using me as bait. Great Wizards, he's going to kill Harry, me, and anyone else who comes with him. Meaning Ron and Hermione.

"You're a monster," I whisper, although not meaning to. "You're a disgusting monster who hasn't even got a soul, just some nasty snake body, a black heart, and sadist tendencies."

Voldemort smirks. "Quite right, young lady. So you'll forgive me if I prove you right."

He points his wand at me. I stare right back at him, defiance twisting my features.

Raw pain….


	22. Harry's Ark

****

Harry's Ark

"Are you certain that this is a good idea, Harry?"

I let out an almost imperceptible growl of annoyance. That's the third time Hermione has asked that question in the past fifteen minutes.

"No, I'm not," I say, obviously annoyed. "But you know what? I don't care! I'm going to get her back, not go traipsing across the countryside after some pasty ogre."

Malfoy cocks an eyebrow, a bit of his old drawl creeping into his voice. "Didn't know you had it in you, Potter."

I throw a stick at him.

We're walking through a forest towards Malfoy Manor. I can see it through the treetops, and it isn't pleasant looking.

It's an architect's worst nightmare. Three stories, with twisted turrets and towers rising above that. The entire thing is black and twisted. A Death Eater's holiday. No wonder the Malfoys live there.

"You-Know-Who might be expecting us to come here," says Hermione. "We could be marching straight into a trap."

"You think I don't know that?" I snap.

"Look, Hermione, just stop, okay? And Harry, get a grip, will you?" says Ron. He's pale with worry under his freckles, but otherwise he looks fine. It surprises me that he has taken up the role of peacemaker in our little rag-tag rescue party.

"Be quiet, all of you," whispers Malfoy harshly. "We'll be going inside the wards in a moment, and they're triggered by sound. Now hush."

"Human sound?" Hermione whispers back.

"Duh!"

Hermione then plucks her wand from her pocket and points it at Malfoy. His eyes widen but before he can bolt he's a white squirrel, twitching in a pile of pine needles.

She turns her wand on Ron next. He becomes a red fox. He scratches at his ear with one hind foot and looks accusing up at Hermione. She ignores his foxy glare (that doesn't sound quite right, does it? Didn't think so) and points her wand at me.

I feel a strange tingling that starts at my toes and spreads through my whole body. Rather like when I swallowed the Polyjuice Potion, but less nauseating.

I blink. Suddenly I've got a pair of telescopes strapped to my head. I jump, startled, flaring my wings to keep from falling over.

Wings?

Huh?

I open my mouth—beak?—to protest, but all that comes out is a raptor's cry.

"You're a falcon. Now hush," whispers Hermione. She turns her wand on herself and a moment later she is an enormous eagle. She snatches her wand in her talons and takes off, disappearing into the branches above.

Malfoy scrabbles up a tree. Ron goes trotting off through the undergrowth towards the Manor, russet tail swinging.

You're a falcon. So fly already.

I flap my arms—wings, I mean—and take off after Hermione, dodging branches until I come floating up above the trees.

This should be an interesting rescue, don't you think?


	23. Ginny's On Animal Planet

Ginny's on Animal Planet

I'm cold.

This place, it's always so cold. Terrifying, too, and painful.

I almost expect my mind to be shattered by now, but I can think with utmost clarity.

Or maybe I am mad, and this is all some twisted fantasy. Maybe I'm at St. Mungo's, across the hall from the Longbottom's in a padded room.

Maybe. Such a strange word. Not yes, not no, but teetering in the middle.

A sharp chattering pierces my foggy brain.

I turn slightly, forcing my eyes to focus. Maybe it's the door squeaking, and the bad man coming in to torture me again.

Something white pops into my field of vision. I blink.

It's a squirrel. An albino squirrel. And it looks miffed.

Odd.

It's crawled through the bars of the window far above my head. It jumps down from the windowsill and darts across the floor, then through the barred door.

Something crashes into the bars of the window. I stand up and look curiously up at it. It's a huge eagle, holding a stick.

No, that's a wand.

Weird.

There's a soft zapping. The squirrel squeaks loudly and vanishes.

I shriek and recoil. It's one of the Bad Men, back to hurt me again. I close my eyes and press myself into the corner.

"_Alohomora._"

I press myself tighter to the wall. Any second now and he'll put that awful curse on me….

"Chill out, Weasley!"

There's a sound of metal scraping metal, then a grunt. I open one eye.

The Bad Man is standing in the middle of the room, window bars in his hands. A falcon comes streaming in, followed by a fox and an eagle.

The eagle has a wand. It points it with a talon at the fox. There is a small explosion of light.

Ron lets out a cough and brushed clumps of red fur off his clothes.

In the corner of my eye I see another flash of light and the falcon transforms. A second later the eagle twists, becomes a slender, dark-haired girl with a pale, anxious face.

Someone grabs my hands and pulls me upright. I cringe.

"Ginny, it's me!"


End file.
